


Senses

by Amoreanonyname



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Codependent Winchesters (Supernatural), ForeverWincest, HARD gen, M/M, POV Sam Winchester, Quote: Sam and Dean Winchester are psychotically irrationally erotically codependent on each other, Soulmates Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Spoilers for Carry On, Wincest - Freeform, gencest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:07:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27706688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amoreanonyname/pseuds/Amoreanonyname
Summary: It took Sam a minute to realize it was real.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 25
Kudos: 120





	Senses

**Author's Note:**

> So, um.
> 
> It's over, and I can't believe it. I do have other fics planned. But while staring at a thousand gifs of Sam and Dean hugging in Heaven, I kept noticing that Sam seemed a bit slower on the uptake - and I realized he might well have not realized it was real. So, this.

It took Sam a minute to realize it was real.

He almost didn’t want to believe it was. So many other times, it hadn’t been. He’d wake up in bed, and those were the worst nights of all. When he was so close he could _feel_ it… but it wasn’t real. When he shared a bed with someone else, he had to get up, go somewhere private. The car, the bathroom. When he was alone, it was easier. Scream, cry, punch out the anger, grief, frustration, every time he thought it was real, but it wasn’t. The waves of guilt when he thought about his boy, how he’s not supposed to feel _happy_ to leave him behind. But that also got easier as he got older. The dreams got harder.

So this time, it took a minute.

First thing, knowing, just _knowing_ , that he was young again. That he was _that_ age again. The day the clocks stopped. And he was wearing - not like either of them cared that much about clothes, but he remembered. He remembered.

The air on his skin. Cool mountain air. Smelled like it had recently rained. And the first thing he saw.

Sam was not the type of man to say - or think - things like “Feast your eyes on-”. It was kind of a dumb, cheesy phrase, reminded him of used car salesmen. He’d never, in his life, understood what “feasting his eyes” meant until that moment.

And Sam just stared. At the back of his brother’s fucking stupid head, like it was the best thing he’d ever seen. Because really, it was. The best thing he could lay eyes on, pretty well all he had wanted to look at in decades. 

Possibly forever, if he’d been honest with himself.

He should have been more honest with himself. 

“Heya, Sammy.”

A voice he’d dreamed, a voice he was sure he’d heard, a million times over. A stupid voicemail that Sam saved, transferred from phone to phone. Just a dumb message about picking up beer on the way home. That Sam had played over and over and over again when it got bad, when he needed to hear his brother’s voice. The days he’d sit in the car, and cry, and play that stupid fucking voicemail, and close his eyes and try as hard as he could to imagine.

And now he was staring back at him, thousand-watt grin and looking at Sam like - well, like pure love. 

Sam still wasn’t so good with the chick-flick moments. But that’s what it was.

All the same, Sam couldn’t stop smiling. His own voice, no longer hoarse with age, rumbling out the first word and last word he’d ever said: “Dean.” 

He’d named his son Dean. To honour his brother’s memory. To keep a piece of him with him. To try to keep a little of “Sam and Dean.” 

But also, to make himself keep saying it. Other times Sam had tried - tried life on his own, tried life _away_ , his brother’s name had become unspeakable. One mention to Jess, one to Amelia, just enough to make it not-weird for them. But otherwise a closed topic. If there were any questions, they were answered with a gritted-teeth “brother”. 

But this time had to be different, had to last. No secrets, no shame, nothing unspeakable. But despite it all, increasingly Sam found it hard to name his brother. He was _him_ , they were _them_ , “Sam and Dean” was still too painful to think about, so he was relieved that most of the time it was “Dad” or “Mr. Winchester.” 

He was moving towards Sam, and Sam couldn’t keep his eyes off him, couldn’t stop looking, couldn’t drop eye contact, still couldn’t be quite certain whether or not he was going to wake up in a second, so he had to soak it all in. The million times he’d seen his face, dreaming, or looking at old pictures. The early days, when he was still half out of his mind grieving, and honestly thought a few times he’d seen him walking down a street or in a store. 

And _him -_ his brother, _Dean_ , was standing in front of him, grinning like an idiot, but so was Sam. And something about it felt different, felt _real_ \- was it not a dream this time?

Was this it?

And suddenly Dean’s hands were yanking him in, and his brother was slammed against his chest. Solid and warm and so very much _Dean_ -like, crashing into Sam, crashing into Sam’s apartment, crashing into Sam’s hotel room when he thought his brother was in Hell, crashing into him at a cabin in the woods when Sam was sure he’d never see him again, crashing through every barrier Sam had ever even tried to put up between them because the intellectual act had been a front, and Sam was actually the stupidest fucking person he’d ever known. 

Holy shit. It was real. This was real. As he finally allowed himself to cling back, Sam realized he remembered how Dean smelled, and it was still the same. The same cheapass laundry detergent, whiskey, Dean-like smell. The old hoodie Sam wore until it fell apart, the clothes he’d kept, the inside of the car, but Dean’s smell had been the first thing to go, and Sam just tried to commit it to memory.

But here he was. Here they were.

And Dean was pulling away, but hanging on, a tight grip around Sam’s shoulders as he lead him off the road. Sam almost laughed, he hadn’t even noticed he’d been _standing on a road_. On a bridge. Of course he had been. But he hadn’t noticed anything except for _Dean_. Dean, finally, Dean, for real this time. Dean in Heaven. 

Now, he could look. Stare out at the span, across tree-lined mountains, across rivers. It felt real. Dean’s arm was around him and his eyes were still on him, and Sam realized that Dean had already seen Heaven, now he just wanted, needed, to keep looking at Sam. 

They just kept standing there, leaning over that bridge, looking out at the view, Sam could feel Dean around his shoulders and tucked up against his side, could still smell him, could still hear him breathing (did they really need to breathe?), could still see a little of him out of the corner of his eye.

He was home. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, feedback is life.
> 
> I'm not going anywhere, at least for the moment. I do have a few more ideas I want to get out there. That said, given the current situation - I am hoping for some comments! 
> 
> Thanks everyone who has been following my fics, thanks to everyone who has commented or kudos'd, thanks to everyone who has encouraged me to keep this up <8.


End file.
